Our Legacy
by Mickienotthemouse
Summary: Sarada wonders if she will be a disappointment to her family. Oneshot.


**A/N: It's been yeaaars since I've written anything for Naruto, but Sarada Uchiha has snuck up on me as an unlikely muse. Here's a short little snippet of a thing. Hope you enjoy! **

"Can you read line five for me, sweetheart?"

Sarada felt like a cyborg squinting through the insectile lenses of the phoropter, all too aware of her parents on either side of her. They were there to support her, but right now she wished they had waited outside. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. "I- I can't. Too blurry." The pressure of her father's hand on her shoulder tightened, and she bristled in shame.

"Not a problem," the doctor chirped as he adjusted the lenses. "How about now?"

Sarada nodded and spoke clearly, "P, E C, F, D."

"Very good." The doctor took away the apparatus and jotted some quick notes onto to his clipboard, leaving Sarada to glance up at her mother who gave her a reassuring smile which her daughter could only return weakly. She dared not chance a look at her father, though the pressure on her shoulder from his vice-like hand never wavered. Of course, he was only concerned. She knew that. But another part of her was unduly fearful that he was...no, she couldn't think like that. She shifted uncomfortably.

They moved into the waiting room and after a time the doctor returned to give them a redundant overview of her diagnosis and concluded that her prescription had to be increased. Her mother went to the front counter to fill out the routine paperwork and settle the payment, leaving Sarada to sulk beside her father who had not yet said one word. She expected nothing less from this appointment, but had hoped for so much more. Which had been silly. Nearsightedness wasn't something that just went away. In fact, it only got worse as time passed, though the doctor assured her it was common and completely harmless.

And it would have been had she been any other person.

But no, she just had to be an _Uchiha, _clan of the perfect eyesight. Worst of all, she was the offspring of one of the greatest prodigies her family had ever produced. How could she possibly hope to live up to that now with her vision getting worse and worse with every doctor's visit?

Worry gnawed at her that at this rate she would never develop her sharingan. What then? She knew how much it meant to her father that she carry on the Uchiha bloodline and the fear of disappointing him was overwhelming. He put a lot of pressure on her to excel, but not nearly as much as she put on herself to please him. To live up to her family's name. At twelve years old it should be here by now. Her father had it by that time. Earlier than that, even. So, already she was behind.

Sarada dwelled on this miserably as the lenses in her frames were swapped out with the new prescription.

"So, what are you thinking about?"

She started at her father's deep, measured voice. That's what he always asked her, in that same cool, conversational tone. It was never "tell me what's wrong." Or "You're clearly upset about something." He never demanded, never assumed anything about her feelings, and she appreciated that. She offered him a half-hearted smile, wanting so desperately to be honest with him but entirely too scared.

"Just—you know, stuff. Training, mostly." She evaded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Sarada could feel his impassive gaze on her a few moments longer before one of his hands came to rest on top of her head, smoothing her hair. And just like a charm, her eyes welled up with tears which she hurriedly blinked back. She drew up her knees to her chest and admitted, "Okay, so maybe it's more than that."

"I'm listening."

And Sarada knew that he was. She had the entirety of her father's attention. The notion both elated her and made her fidget. Burying her face in her skirt, she mumbled incoherently.

"What was that?" he probed.

Sarada let out a resigned groan, before screwing her eyes shut and coming straight out with it, "I'm worried about my eyes! I'm twelve years old and my vision is, is- shit! "

"Watch your language," Sasuke warned.

She was quick to correct herself, "Crud, it's crud." Her cheeks colored with embarrassment. "And it's only getting worse. What if, what if I never develop my sharingan?"

She risked a look at her father who remained the same implacable carapace. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking until he spoke.

"Listen, don't sell yourself short. Besides, there are more important things," he intoned as if he had already given this a great deal of thought and had come to terms with it.

Sarada stared at him in astonishment, eyes wide. "Papa, how can you say that?" She swallowed the lump in her throat. "It's our kekkei genkai! Your legacy!" Her voice cracked. "I- I don't want to fail you..."

Sasuke frowned deeply. "Nonsense. I could care less about that. Even without the sharingan you're top of your class. You are strong, hardworking, intelligent, and beautiful. The very flower of Konoha. And you'll only continue to grow. _You_ are my legacy, Sarada. All I want is for you to be safe and healthy. Whatever kind of ninja you turn out to be, I'll be proud. With or without the sharingan."

Sarada bit her lip. It was all she could do not to burst into tears of relief and gratitude. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected this conversation to go so smoothly. She did not get the chance to respond, however, because at that moment her mother returned, glasses in hand. She knelt beside her daughter and fitted the frames onto her face.

"There, darling. Better right?" she cooed.

Indeed, the blurry images Sarada had swam in sharpened into focus. Everything was crisp again. Solid. With a ghost of an encouraging smile from her father, free of judgment or expectation, and her anxieties greatly alleviated it had been a long while since Sarada had experienced this kind of clarity.

Sarada nodded, "Much."


End file.
